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OUR BEST SOCIETY. 



A PARLOR COMEDY. 



OUR BEST SOCIETY 



BEING AN 



fttjaptatton of ti)c IJottjrijar papers, 



IN FOUR ACTS. 



I RVING BROWNE 









e TROY, N. Y. : 

PRIVATELY PRINTED. 
1868. 



^ 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by Irving 

Browne, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of 

the Northern District of New York. 



DEDICATED 



GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS. 



J 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



John Potiphar, 
Henry Howard, 
Timon Crcesus, 
Rev. Cream Cheese, 
Footman. 



Mrs. Potiphar, 
Miss Helen Potiphar, 
Mrs. Dragon, 
Caroline Pettitoes, 
Lydia Crcesus, 
Servant. 



Note. The curtain may be dropped between the second and third scenes of 
the fourth Act, if time is needed for the change of dress indicated. 

If practicable, a good effect may be attained by representing Scene I, Act I, in the 
lighted parlor of Potiphar's house, the guests having just gone, and Potiphar 
and Mrs. Potiphar being in party dress. In this case Mrs. P. must omit the 
second sentence of her speech just before Cheese enters, must exit (l.) and 
change her dress to a morning costume, and re-enter (l.) before Cheese. The 
change of dress must be very expeditious, or if in parlor representation, the curtain 
may fall. 



OUR BEST SOCIETY. 



A C T I. 

Scene I. — A room in Potiphar' s house. Breakfast table spread. 

Enter Mr. Potiphar. (l.) 

Mr. P. Well, I think these follies have gone far enough. 
Two new carpets spoiled at Mrs. Potiphar's grand ball last 
night ! And young Gauche Boosey so drunk that I had to 
send him out of the house ! And then to think of Helen 
sailing around the parlor, in a polka, at the rate of twenty 
miles an hour, in the embrace of that hot and tipsy youth ! 
Really, I don't know what our society is coming to. I 
sometimes think we shall all be wiped out some night like 
Sodom and Gomorrah, Positively, these things are too 
disgraceful. I'll lend them my countenance no longer. I'll 
not submit to have my house and child so outraged. I will 
not endure it another day. This is the last — 

Enter Mrs. Potiphar. 

Mrs. P. Last what, Potty dear? 

Mr. P. Last ball at my house, madam ! 

Mrs. P. Fiddle-de dee ! 

Mr. P. Madam, it's no laughing matter, 1 ; nor fiddling 
matter either ! I tell you, madam, I am not going to open 
my house for a crowd of people who don't go away till day- 
light ; who spoil my books and furniture ; who involve me 



6 OUR BEST SOCIETY. 

in a foolish expense ; for a gang of rowdy boys who drink 
my choice wines, and who don't know them from liquorice- 
water ; for a swarm of persons, few of whom know me, fewer 
still care for me, and to whom I am only "old Potiphar," 
the husband of you, a fashionable woman. I am simply 
resolved to have no more such tom-foolery in my house. 

Mrs. P. Dear me! Mr. Potiphar, you'll feel much 
better when you've slept. Mustn't we see our friends, I 
should like to know? and if we do, are you going to let 
your wife entertain them in a manner inferior to old Mrs. 
Podge or Mrs. Croesus ? People will accuse you of meanness, 
and if some persons hear you have reduced your style of 
living, they will begin to suspect the state of your affairs. 

Mr. P. [Jside.) They may well do that. The deuce 
seems to be in them lately ! 

Mrs. P. Besides, dear John, you must remember our 
Helen is out in society, and has her market to make ; — 

Mr. P. Good gracious ! Polly ! you speak of the matter 
as if our daughter were a fat beeve ! And now allow me to 
tell you, that your throwing Helen at that worthless young 
Timon Croesus' head last night, was altogether too perceptible. 
Really, you must disguise your scheme a little more cunningly, 
if you expect to succeed. 

Mrs. P. Now, P., you're too hard. You know young 
Croesus is a great catch, and why shouldn't Helen have him, 
and why shouldn't her mamma, who has seen something of 
the world, assist her in settling comfortably in life ? 

Mr. P. Well, Polly, carry on your campaign in your 
own way, but remember that Helen shall never marry Ti 
Croesus with my consent. What ! the fellow is a most dis- 
mal fool, as you well know, even allowing his habits to be 
good. Think of his utterance — like the noise that water 
makes when you empty a jug! And in appearance, even, 
he doesn't compare with that young — what's his name ? — the 
lawyer; — why don't you invite him and such sensible young 



A PARLOR COMEDY. J 

men oftener? — and not turn my house into a menagerie of 
chattering apes. 

Mrs. P. Oh, you mean young Howard. Why, he's 
well enough, and makes a very available society-man, but 
he is nothing after all more than a briefless attorney, down 
in Nassau street. I have inquired all about him, and learned 
that his office is up three pair of stairs back, and he has no 
senior partner, so he will never come on very fast. Then 
again, there is something very obscure about his origin. No- 
body knows anything of his family. I have suspected that 
Helen is too much interested in him, and so have been on 
the alert to learn his prospects. (Oh, what don't I go through 
for my children !) He has got brains enough, perhaps, and 
so have plenty of others; but brains, without a sufficiency 
of the substantials of life, will never do for us. 

Enter Servant, (l.) 

Serv. Rev. Mr. Greencheese, ma'am — 

Mrs. P. Cream Cheese, you mean Nelly — 

Serv. Yes'm — says he will be happy to call at twelve. 

(Exit) l.) 

Mrs. P. It's that dear, delightful clergyman we met at 
Saratoga, last summer. You remember him, dear? 

Mr. P. Yes, yes — a conceited, brainless, affected, whin- 
ing— 

Mrs. P. Oh no, no ! You must be thinking of some 
one else. He's a real handsome man, and has charming 
manners. And then his voice is so soft, and his hands are 
so white, and he makes such graceful, wavy gestures — I'm 
sure he must do a great deal of good. Why don't you 
secure him as an assistant to old Dr. Polysyllable? 

Mr. P. It's the same man. He'll never do. His 
flowers of rhetoric are all artificial, and besides, he is too much 
addicted to candlesticks. 

Mrs. P. Candlesticks! 



5 OUR BEST SOCIETY. 

Mr. P. I mean, he's a Pussyite, — or whatever you call 
it, — trying to raise the old cat in the church. I've no notion 
of being tied to the apronstrings of the Scarlet Woman. 

Mrs. P. {Aside.) Who can she be? I never heard any 
scandal of Mr. Potiphar. (To P.) But what is it about 
candlesticks? Perhaps the poor man finds gas too bright for 
his weak eyes, and that, Pm sure, is his misfortune, not 
his fault. 

Mr. P. Polly, please not meddle with things you don't 
understand. You may have Cream Cheese to dinner as 
much as you please, but I won't have him in the pulpit of 
my church. When the old Doctor preaches, I can go quietly 
to sleep, confident that he will say nothing that might not 
be spoken in any well-regulated pulpit ; whereas if we should 
let Cream Cheese into the desk, I shall have to keep a look- 
out for some of his new-fangled idolatries. But what brings 
him here at this time of day ? 

Mrs. P. Why, my dear, I sent for him to consult about 
our new livery, and some other things. He has such ex- 
quisite taste. 

Mr. P. Livery! Good heavens, Polly ! You'll drive me 
mad with your nonsense. Think of old soap-boiler Potiphar's 
servants in livery ! There would be bars enough in the 
escutcheon! Think of my grandfather, who was only a 
skillful blacksmith and a good citizen, and brought up a 
family to fear the Lord, and earn an honest living ! Ah ! 
Polly, when you first knew me, my coat of arms was much 
out at elbow ! 

Mrs. P. But my ancestors, Mr. P., are a different matter. 
Starr Mole says, in his witty way, he has "climbed our 
family tree," and finds I am descended from one of those 
two brothers, who came over in some of those old times, in one 
of those old ships, and settled in some of those old places some- 
where — a Plaintangent, I think he called it. So if birth 
gives any one a right to coats of arms and liveries, I'm 



A PARLOR COMEDY. 9 

entitled to have them. But I don't care anything about 
that. The Gnus and Croesuses and Silkes and Settum 
Downes have these things, and I'm not going to be behind, 
I tell you. 

Mr. P. Yes, yes, of course you'll have them, or any- 
thing else you get your silly head set on. A woman's the 
most obstinate animal in creation — more obstinate than a 
mule, even ; and that's the reason, as I have heard Fred 
say, the ancients called her mulier. Well I must be off. 
Here I've wasted my entire morning. Don't forget the 
calves; everything in livery, you know, depends upon the 
calves. [Exit r.) 

Mrs. P. What's this about calves, I wonder? [Pulling 
out watch.) Why bless me, it's quite noon, and that cherubic 
Cream Cheese will be here presently. 

Enter Cream Cheese, (r.) 

Cream. My dear Mrs. Potiphar, the sight of you is 
refreshing as Hermon's dew. 

Mrs. P. Oh, Mr. Cheese, I'm so glad you've come, 
for I want to consult you about several matters of taste, and 
you have such perfect taste. 

Cream. You flatter me, dear Mrs. Potiphar. Still, 
esthetics form an important component of life and religion, 
and attention in this direction is essential to the complete 
character. It is desirable, speaking spiritually, that the 
shepherd's crook should be gilded and the fisher's net silken. 

Mrs. P. And first of all, Mr. Cheese, I'm quite uncer- 
tain how to have my prayer-book bound. After thinking 
about it a good deal, I had concluded to have it done in pale 
blue velvet, with gold clasps, and a gold cross upon the side. 
But then, Mrs. Gnu, who sits near me, wears a blue hat, 
and I fear the effect of my book might be injured ; you know 
two blues always kill each other. 



IO OUR BEST SOCIETY. 

Cream. Dear Mrs. Potiphar, your taste quite agrees 
with mine. As your faith is so pure and childlike, and as 
I have observed that the light from the yellow panes usually 
falls across your pew, I would advise that you sym- 
bolize your faith by binding your prayer-book in pale blue, 
the color of skim-milk, dear Mrs. Potiphar, which is so full of 
pastoral associations. 

Mrs. P. But Mr. Cheese, wouldn't cymbals be rather 
noisy in church? 

Cream. I do not refer to those "tinkling cymbals" 
alluded to by Paulus, but to those spiritual symbols, addressing 
the eye of observation. 

Mrs. P. Oh, yes, I understand you now fully. But 
as to Mrs. Gnu's bonnet? 

Cream. Let us hope that obtrusive article of apparel 
will prove ephemeral. The fashion of woman changes. 
But the color of your prayer-book should be perennial. 

Mrs. P. Oh, thank you, Mr. Cheese; you have such a 
consolatory way of treating these things, and you so encourage 
me by solving my little doubts and perplexities, that I have 
half a mind to ask your advice upon another matter of 
ecstatics. 

Cream. Of esthetics? yes? confide in me wholly, dear 
madam. 

Mrs. P. Well you must know, I want to put my servants 
in livery, but Mr. Potiphar is very much opposed to it. Do 
you think it objectionable? 

Cream. (Putting his hand to his cravat.) Is not this a 
livery, dear Mrs. Potiphar? And shall the servants of our 
physical necessities do less? The scriptures recognize in 
many places the propriety of submission on the part of 
terrestrial servants to their fleshly masters : " Servants, obey 
your masters." And therefore it is meet and fitting to 
designate this submission by visible symbols. May not the 
band upon the hat and the buckle upon the knee denote the 



A PARLOR COMEDY. II 

closeness of the tie and the imperativeness of the obligation 
subsisting between master and servant in every household 
regulated by faith? And the footman's staff — may it not 
be intended to signify the dependence with which the good 
servant leans upon his master? These are mere suggestions, 
dear Mrs. Potiphar, for we can at best grasp at the latent 
significance of these things but darkly. But these insignia 
or badges, having been preserved and used for so many years, 
by so many highly reputable families, let us not inconsider- 
ately discard them. 

Mrs. P. You have determined me. I shall at once 
put my coachman in livery. 

Cream. But why not have a chasseur, dear madam. 

Mrs. P. Why — I'm so sorry, but we — we haven't 
any in the house. [Aside.) It must be some French dish. 

Cream. Oh, but you could hire one, you know. 

Mrs. P. [Aside.) It must be a musical instrument — a 
panharmonicon, or something of that kind. [To Cream.) 
I'm not very, very fond of it. 

Cream. But it would be so fine to have him standing 
on the back of the carriage, his plumes waving in the air, 
and his lace and polished belts flashing in the sun as you 
whirled down Fifth Avenue. 

Mrs. P. Oh, that would be splendid ! [Aside.) He 
means those military gentlemen who sit behind the carriage, 
especially upon the continent, and who, in Paris, are so 
useful in keeping the wild beasts and savages at bay, in the 
Champs Eliza, where they are intended as a guard. ( To 
Cream.) But please don't kindle my imagination with a 
chaser, for Potiphar never can be brought to consent to 
that, and so I must be content with one full-sized footman 
and a fat driver. 

Cream. The corpulence is quite essential, dear Mrs. 
Potiphar. I have been much abroad; I have mingled, I 
trust, in good, which is to say Christian, society ; and I must 



12 OUR BEST SOCIETY. 

say that few things struck me more forcibly upon my return, 
than that the ladies, who drive very handsome carriages, with 
footmen in livery, should permit such thin coachmen upon 
the box. I really believe that Mrs. Settum Downe's coach- 
man doesn't weigh more than one hundred and thirty pounds, 
which is ridiculous. A lady might as well hire a footman 
with insufficient calves, as a coachman who weighs less than 
two hundred and ten. That is the minimum. Besides, I 
don't observe any wigs upon the coachmen. Now, if a 
lady sets up her carriage, with her family crest and fine 
liveries, why, I should like to know, is the wig of the coachman 
omitted, and his cocked hat also ? It is a kind of shabby, 
half-ashamed way of doing things, a garbled glory. The 
cock-hatted, knee-breeched, paste-buckled, horse-hair-wig- 
ged coachman is one of the institutions of the aristocracy. 
If we don't have him complete, we some how make ourselves 
ridiculous. If we do have him complete, why then — ( Coughs, 
and pats bis mouth with his handkerchief.) 

Mrs. P. I should like to come out with a wig, — I mean 
upon my coachman. It would so put down the Settum 
Downes. But I am sure Potiphar wouldn't have it. He lets 
me do a great deal, but % there is a line which I fear he won't 
let me pass. 

Cream. Well, I am not sure but he may be right. I 
remember an expression of my carnal days, when I was in 
the bond of iniquity, about " coming it too strong," which 
seems to be applicable just here. 

Mrs. P. (Helping Cream to wine.) But about the calves, 
meaning the limbs, I suppose? 

Cream. Yes? 

Mrs. P. I should feel rather awkward in asking a servant 
about his calves, it would sound so queerly. And yet I 
must confess, it seems necessary ? 

Cream. (Sipping.) Yes, dear madam, the path of duty 
is not always smooth. It is often thickly strewn with 



A PARLOR COMEDY. 1 3 

thorns. I was sorry not to be able to attend your party 
last night, but I had certain vigils to keep, preparatory to 
the approaching Lent. 

Mrs. P. We had a pleasant affair — dancing. Do you 
approve of dancing? 

Cream. It would be presumptuous in me to condemn 
what has the evident sanction of Holy Writ. Is it not 
written that the King danced before the Lord ? Possibly, 
however this terpsichorean exercise did not include anvthing 
resembling the so-called "round dances." The commenta- 
ries are silent on this point. 

Mrs. P. We had several charming girls of our church. 
Why don't you marry, Mr. Cheese ? There is Lydia Croesus, 
now, a dear, good girl, suitable in age and tastes. 

Cream. Her father has worldly possesions, has he not. 

Mrs. P. Yes, he is enormously rich. 

Cream. (Sighing.) I could never marry an heiress, 
unless I clearly saw it to be my duty. 

Mrs. P. (Aside.) Beautiful resignation ! 

Cream. And now I must go. If I can be of any as- 
sistance in the details of the matters on which we have 
communed, command me fully. 

Mrs. P. I will do so, thank you very much. 

Cream. Adieu, dear madam ! (Aside.) I fear I have 
neglected that dear lamb, Lydia. I will go to her instantly. 

Mrs. P. Adieu! (Exit Cream, r.) What a charming 
man, and how devoted to his calling! Now I must go 
down to Lawson's to try on my new hat, for I'm bound to 
be ahead of Mrs. Gnu next Sunday. Won't she die of 
envy ! And then to Stewart's to select cloth for the liveries. 
Oh ! if I only dared go the wig and the chaser/ (Exit L.) 

End of Act I. 



14 OUR BEST SOCIETY. 

ACT II. 

Scene I. — A roo?n in Potipbars bouse. 
Mrs. Potiphar discovered seated. 

Mrs. P. Well, well, it's all over, and I shall carry my 
point about the livery. As for our party, everybody says it 
was the most elegant affair of the season. To be sure there 
were two or three little accidents, but they occur at all large 
parties that I ever attended. Young Mr. Boosey drank too 
much, and they ruined our carpet, and knocked legs off 
several of the chairs, and there's a trace of wine on the 
brocatelle here and there. And some one knocked that 
elegant statuette of the Medicinal Venus off the pedestal, and 
broke it into a million pieces. But here comes my child. 
[Enter Helen, l.) Well, Helen, dear, how do you feel 
after the fatigues of last evening ? Why, you look wretchedly 
haggard ! Sit down here by me. 

Helen. No wonder, mamma. Oh, what folly this 
fashionable dissipation is ! We have made a great ado, and 
now it's all over, how much better off are we? For my 
own part, I think it is all lost time — worse than lost. 

Mrs. P. My child you don't understand these things. 
We owe certain duties to society. People of our class hold 
the same relations to society in our country, that the nobility 
of foreign countries do toward theirs, and these perplexities 
are the penalty of our station. And how much of my pains 
and anxiety is on your account, my child ! 

Helen. On my account, mamma? 

Mrs. P. Yes, love — anxiety to see you worthily be- 
stowed in marriage. You are now eighteen, and are growing 
frightfully old-maidish in your notions — blue-stockingish, if I 
may be allowed the expression. Now, last evening I noticed 
you bestowed altogether too much time and attention on Mr. 
Howard, and I heard you talking with him about books and 



A PARLOR COMEDY. I 5 

that sort of thing. This will never do. You are to be a 
leader in our best society, and you mustn't become engrossed 
in books. It's well enough to read the last novel or 
poem — Enoch Ardent, or Mr. Thackuary's Virgins, for 
instance, because now and then you'll have to entertain literary 
men. It's quite the style to invite them, and they don't 
dance, you know. But nothing beyond. And as for marry- 
ing anv Mr. Howard, of course that is entirely out of the 
question. 

Helen. Pardon me, mother dear, but that is not so clear. 
I have a great regard for the gentleman in question, and 
although he has not spoken to me of matrimony, yet he is 
worthy, in my opinion, of any woman living. 

Mrs. P. Helen, it will never, never do. He may be 
a very nice young man, but he hasn't any expectations, and 
what would a girl like you, brought up in luxury, do as the 
wife of a poor young man ? To think of your being obliged 
to give music lessons, or do plain sewing! 

Helen. Oh, dear me, mother, it is not quite as bad as 
that. Henry — I mean Mr. Howard, has already quite a 
growing income from his profession, so I've been told, and 
with his talents he cannot fail. 

Mrs. P. Now, Helen, don't ever call me "mother" 
again, at least in public, as you did last night. It makes me 
seem so old. If you want to say anything, call me "mam- 
ma" — there's a young sound to that — or "auntie." They 
say it is quite the style for young ladies to call their mothers 
"auntie," when in public. Now, as for young Howard. 
I shall never try to control your choice of a husband, but 
you are young and haven't seen so much of human nature 
and society as I have. Why, dear child, you h„ve spent 
only one season at Newport, and have never been at Saratoga 
at all. If you will allow your mamma to advise you, Timon 
Croesus is a much more advantageous match for you, and 
he's clearly in love with vou. 



l6 OUR BEST SOCIETY. 

Helen. Well, mamma, I don't think it necessary to 
spend a summer at any watering-place, in order to be able 
to tell a fool from a gentleman. 

Mrs. P. I admit, Helen, that Timon is not so very 
talented, but he makes some pretty bright speeches, now 
and then, which show what he is capable of if he would 
apply himself. Oh, Helen ! if I could only see you Mrs. 
Timon Croesus, my happiness would be complete. To 
think of his being carried off by that affected Georgfana 
Downe or that artful Caroline Pettitoes ! Really, I never 
should survive it ! 

Helen. No, mamma, we've got money enough in the 
family, and what we want now is brains. But -here comes 
some one to interrupt us. 

Enter Servant, (r.) 

Serv. It's the man, ma'am, as wants the footman's 
place. 

Mrs. P. Oh, yes, show him right in. {Exit Servant, r.) 
{Aside.) Oh, dear, now for that shocking calf business! 
{To Helen.) Dear, I think you'd better go now, for I may 
be detained some time by this fellow. We will talk further 
on your affairs. {Exit Helen, l.) 

Enter Footman, (r.) 

Mrs. P. Well, James, I'm glad you've come. 

Foot. Please, ma'am, my name is Henry. 

Mrs. P. James, the name of my footman is always 
James. You may call yourself what you please; I shall 
always call you James. {Aside.) The idea of the man's 
undertaking to arrange my servants' names for me! ( To 
Foot.) Have you brought your references with you ? 

Foot. Yes, ma'am. {Giving her papers.) 

Mrs. P. {Examining them.) Quite satisfactory, James, 
but — {Aside^) now for the terrible calf matter! {To Foot.) 
Well, James — 



A PARLOR COMEDY. I*] 

Foot. Yes, ma'am? 

Mrs. P. I wish — yes — ah! — 

Foot. Yes, ma'am. 

Mrs. P. James, I wish you had come in knee-breeches. 

Foot. [Surprised.) Ma'am ! 

Mrs. P. In knee-breeches, James. 

Foot. What be they, ma'am? — what for, ma'am? 

Mrs. P. Oh, nothing, nothing — but — but — 

Foot. Yes, ma'am. 

Mrs. P. Your — your — legs, James! 

Foot. Good heavens, ma'am ! what about them ? 

Mrs. P. Why, I must see them, James ! 

Foot. Oh, Lord, ma'am! what for? You're the first 
missus as ever wanted to see my legs ! [Runs behind a chair.) 

Mrs P. Why, you see, James, I shall want you to 
wear livery, and I naturally need to know if your — your 
calves are sufficient. (Jside.) The path is thorny, sure 
enough ! 

Foot. Oh, ma'am ! I couldn't wear a livery, ma'am. 
Never did such a thing in my life, ma'am ! 

Mrs. P. James, you must not dictate to me. I do not 
permit my servants to impose conditions upon me. I am 
willing to pay you good wages and treat you well, but my 
servants must wear my livery. 

Foot. I'm very sorry, ma'am. I know I should like 
the place very much, and the wages is satisfactory, and I 
think I could suit you, ma'am j and I would try to be a 
good servant, ma'am ; but I can't put on those things, ma'am, 
and make a fool of myself. I hope you won't insist, ma'am, 
for I am very anxious to get a place. 

Mrs. P. I do insist, James, and if you can't wear my 
livery, you won't suit me. 

Fodt. I'm very sorry, ma'am. I hope no offence, 
ma'am, but I never could do it, ma'am ; and so I suppose 
I must say good-morning, ma'am. (Exit r.) 

3 



lb OUR BEST SOCIETY. 

Mrs. P. Dear me ! The path of duty is hard ! And 
so I've got. to go through this horrible calf business again, 
I suppose. (Exit L.) 

Enter Howard, (r.) shown in by servant. 

. How. Why, how my heart throbs ! Worse than when 
I rose to make my maiden speech in the great Quicksilver 
case. But I must know my fate. I shall be wholly unfit for 
my business until it is determined. I think Helen knows, and 
does not disapprove my regard for her, but — ah! here she 
comes. 

Enter Helen, (l.) 

Helen. Ah ! Mr. Howard ? I did not expect to see 
you so soon again. But you are welcome. (They sit.) 

How. I passed the remnant of last night restless and 
sleepless, and have sought you at this unseasonable hour, to 
know whether my future is to be all sunshine, or whether I 
am to go out from this house, an unhappy, disappointed, 
blighted man. Miss Potiphar — Helen — I have known 
you but a few short months, but in that time have learned 
to love you, oh, how deeply ! I love you devotedly, un- 
changeably — forever. I have watched you in the whirl of 
fashion and gaiety, and have marked you as one superior to 
this aimless life. Sometimes I have even dared to think that 
you looked on me with no unfavorable eye. Have I been mad, 
mistaken, presumptuous ? Oh, let me know the worst at 
once, Helen! May I — dare I hope? My heart tells me 
I may — but my fears — speak to me, dear lady! 

Helen. Henry, it would be false to say that I have 
not been — that I am not — more partial towards you than 
I have dared to own to my heart. You do not think me 
unmaidenly ? No, no — why should I endeavor to hide my 
feelings from one so worthy of my afFection ? Henry — I 
do — love you! 



A PARLOR COMEDY. 19 

How. (Taking her hand.) I was not then deceived! 
I have hesitated, doubted, prayed ; but now all my troubles 
are solved. How happy one little word has made me ! 
This hour is the fruition of years of labor and struggle. 

Helen. Oh, Henry ! I fear you expect too much from 
me. I am only a feeble girl, and I feel so inferior to you 
in everything save love. 

How. And the very purity of that love makes you my 
superior. I am perfectly conscious that I have no real 
standing in society — that I am not invited to the houses of 
the leaders of fashion on account of talents or mental accom- 
plishments, but because I can talk small nothings, dance, sing, 
play the agreeable and convenient beau for scores of young 
ladies, who would deem me mad should I aspire to their hands. 
In short, I am not rich. And then, Helen, there is another 
thing you should know. My birth is obscure. I know 
not if there be one of my blood upon the face of the whole 
earth. I do not even know my descent, nor whether I am 
the lawful offspring of any one. All that I have been able 
to learn of my history is, that I was washed ashore on the 
stormy coast of Long Island, a wailing babe, lashed to a 
portion of the wreck of an Alantic packet, inward-bound ; 
that I was found and succored by the widow of a poor fisher- 
man, who had recently lost her own babe, and who supplied 
its place with the ocean-tossed foundling. My protectress 
removed to this city while I was yet very young, and died 
when I was only fifteen years old. I have since lived, I 
hardly know how, in this great Babel, where I have strug- 
gled up and on during all these weary years, sustained by 
nothing but the hope that I might prove to be the child of 
fond and honored parents, and the desire to bring.no disgrace 
on their memories, should their name and station ever be 
discovered. And do you, Helen, accept this poor waif, 
possibly the child of shame ? 

Helen. Having given you my heart, it matters little to 



20 OUR BEST SOCIETY. 

me whether you are noble or obscure of birth. If you are 
friendless, it is for me to prove the nearer and dearer friend 
to you. No, no, dear Henry, I have not lightly plighted 
my love. But as for mamma, to be candid, I think she 
would be reluctant to bestow me in marriage on any but 
a rich man. 

How. Oh, that you too were penniless, that I might 
prove my devotion and my honor ! 

Helen. Henry, we must not misunderstand each other. 
Papa thinks highly of you; but as for mamma, we must 
wait, and trust to her natural goodness of heart to work in 
our favor, for I should never be happy in marrying without 
her full approval. 

How. You are right, dearest. You shall teach me 
patience. But only love me ! I will repay you in time. 

Helen. [Giving him her hand.) There is my hand. 
(He kisses her hand.) Why, Harry, how can you? (He 
kisses her lips.) Oh, worse and worse ! There — that will 
do! -Hush! — here's some one coming. 

Enter Servant, (r.) giving Helen card. 

Helen. (Reading.) Mr. Timon Croesus. Lack-a-day ! 
( To Servant.) Show him in. I suppose I must see him. 
(Exit Servant, r.) 

How. Angels and ministers of grace ! I must be off. 

Helen. No, please don't desert me. Besides, this is 
your rival, mamma's favorite ; although I think he's more 
i n love with Carrie Pettitoes than with me. Stay and help me 
through with the call. 

How. I'm all obedience. But he's a more finished 
bore than the Hoosic Tunnel. 

Enter Crcesus, (r.) 

Helen. Good-morning, Mr. Croesus, how do you do ? 
Crces. Pwetty well, thank you, Miss Pawtiphar. I 
twust you are well this chawming mawning? 



A PARLOR COMEDY. 21 

Helen. Yes, thank you. Mr. Croesus — Mr. Howard. 
[They bow coldly to each other.) 

Crces. (Aside.) Howard ? Good name, but a very ill- 
dwessed fellow. 

How. (Aside.) What an insufferable coxcomb! I'll 
have some fun out of him. 

Helen. You're a great stranger, Mr. Croesus. I've 
hardly seen you since your return from Europe, except at 
our party last night. You have quite neglected us of late. 

Crces. Yaas? — no — the fact is, I've been sufferwing 
terwibly from sea-sickness ever since I set foot on terwa 
firmaw, as the ancients used to call it. 

Helen. But you had a very fine time in Paris, I suppose ? 
You visited the picture-galleries? 

Crces. Oh, yaas, did them all. Pwodigiously fine, but 
verwy fatiguing, especially when the fashion wequires one 
to wear upwight collahs. 

How. Yes, it must be. Byron always wore rolling col- 
lars, so as to be able to study the frescoes on the ceiling of 
the Vatican without inconvenience. 

Helen. How I should like to visit those collections of 
art ! To see all those beautiful Raphaels, Correggios, and 
Titians ! Pray, Mr. Croesus, which of Correggio's works 
did you most admire? 

Crces. Well, weally, it's difficult to sa*y, — they are all 
vastly fine, but it stwuck me that his shay-doover was about 
as good as any. 

How. I don't think I saw that. He must have painted 
it since I was at Paris. 

Crces. Verwy pwobably. You see, I suppose these 
old masters are turning out works all the time, eh ? They 
must employ a good many hands, eh ? By the way, I pur- 
chased a verwy ware picture in Parwis, a Julia Womano, 
or something of that sort — beautiful thing, verwy indistinct 
and dirty, combat of cavalwy. You see it was painted for 



11 OUR BEST SOCIETY. 

an old Fwench family, whose heir had become weduced in 
circumstances, and had to part with it. 

Helen. How very sad ! 

Crces. He was a verwy fine-looking man, dark hair, 
heavy moustache, and a stwikingly-pwominent Hebwewnose. 
He used to come evewy mawning, to visit the picture and 
learn what chance there was for its sale. I got it quite a 
bargain. He said, to any one in Fwance the pwice should 
be eleven thousand fwancs, but as I was an Amerwican, 
and the picture would go out of the countwy, a thousand 
fwancs should be deducted. He quite wept when he parted 
with it. 

How. You got it reasonably ; in fact it was dirt cheap. 
I don't suppose there are more than ten or twenty artists 
here who would paint ten or twenty times as good a picture, 
for a quarter of the price. 

Helen. But after all, Mr. Howard, they would not be 
"old masters." Well, Mr. Croesus, I suppose you visited 
all the haunts of genius and fashion ? 

Crces. Yaas, oh, yaas — did all the opewas, and theatres, 
and cemeterwies, and churches, and gaming-houses, and — 

Helen. Gaming-houses! 

Crces. Pwecisely — and that weminds me of a little 
pun — little conundwum I made — why is a gamester like a 
lamb ? 

Helen. Gamester like a lamb ? 

How. Because he is fleeced? 

Crces. No, no, that isn't it. Ha, ha! D'ye give it up? 

How. Yes. 

Helen. Yes. 

Crces. Because he gambols on the gween. Ha, ha ! 
See it ? Gambols — kicks up, you know, — turns somersets — 
that sort of thing you know. Gween — baize, you know. 

Helen. Oh ! very good, Mr. Crcesus. I fear that you 
were quite wild in Paris. Didn't any of those beautiful 
Parisian ladies of nobility fall in love with you ? 



A PARLOR COMEDY. 23 

Crces. Can't say ; couldn't give them any encourwage- 
ment, being a wepublican, you know. But I had quite a 
womantic little flirtation with a verwy pwetty young lady in 
a shop. 

How. Oh, a shop-girl? 

Crces. Yaas. I had often wemarked her watching me 
when I was buying anything in the shop. The moment I 
entered she always fixed her eyes on me, and they were 
large, and lustwous, and a little mournful in expwession. 
She was evidently disappointed whenever I left without speak- 
ing to her. Daily for a week I walked past the door, and she 
was always looking after me with the most eager interwest. 
So I determined one day to follow the matter up. I entered, 
went up to her, and asked her in my most wavishing tone, 
for a pair of gloves ! 

How. Didn't she show any embarrassment ? 
Crces. No, the Fwench women are so twained to con- 
ceal their emotions, that she did not betway, by any twembling, 
or turning pale, or stammerwing, the pwofound intewest she 
felt for me, but quietly looking in my eyes, she asked me 
in a stwain of sywen sweetness, what number I wore. 
Helen. What wonderful self-command ! 
Crces. I weplied that the size of her hand was about 
wight for me; whereupon she smiled bewitchingly, and 
selecting a pair of exquisite shade, pwoceeded to fit the glove 
on my hand herself. 

Helen. Rather forward, it seems to me. 
Crces. Well, it didn't stwike me so at the time. And 
then when I inquired for cwavats, she tied one about my 
neck herself; and the wesult was I bought an immense amount 
of such lumber, and after that I never passed the shop with- 
out purchasing fifty fwancs or so. All the west of our fellows 
were weady to expire with jealousy, for she never had any 
eyes for any but me. 

Helen. And Mr. Croesus, you saw some of those 
magnificent churches? 



24 OUR BEST SOCIETY. 

Crces. Oh yaas, vewy fwequently; and that weminds 
me, Miss Pawtiphar — what do you do when you first go 
into church, and put your head down ? 

Helen. Why, how do you mean? 

Crces. Why, when we go into church, you know, we 
all put our heads down in front of the pew, or in our hands, 
for a little while, and Dr. Polysyllable spweads his handker- 
chief on the desk, and puts his head into it for quite a long 
time. What do you do ? 

Helen. Why, it is to say a short prayer. 

Crces. Bless my soul ! I never thought of that. 

Helen. What do you do, then? 

Crces. Well, you know, I think it's a capital thing to 
do ; it's pwoper, and so forth ; but I never knew what people 
were weally at when they did it, so I always put my head 
in my hat, and count ten. I find it comes to about the 
same thing. I get thwough at the same time with the other 
people. 

Helen. What a wag you are, Mr. Croesus! 

How. But I've been thinking you had a very narrow 
escape from that young lady who sold you cravats and collars. 

Crces. No! What d'ye mean? 

How. Did you notice whether they sold there the Persian 
Hair Dye ? ' 

Crces. Yaas, they did. Sign of a female with long 
hair, sitting cwoss-legged and smoking an enawmous pipe. 

How. The very place. You see, the Emperor of Persia 
ransacks all parts of the known world, to procure beautiful 
youths to wait upon his wives, and it's rumored that he 
employs these French girls to betray elegant young men 
like yourself into his hands, where they become his miserable 
slaves, and pass their lives in his harem. 

Crces. Good-gwacious ! how howible! Why, he's a 
wegular Bwigham Young, isn't he ? I shudder at my escape. 
But I must bid you good-mawning, dear Miss Pawtiphar, 



A PARLOR COMEDY. 25 

for I have an engagement to meet Cweam Cheese, — you 
know him ? 

Helen. Yes, a very charming man. 

How. And of noble blood. 

Crces. Aw? How so? 

How. He's descended from the De la Cremes of 
France — an ancient Huguenot family, founded by Creme 
de la Creme, who came over with Charlemagne the Conqueror, 
and left a branch of the family in England, whose descendants, 
intermarrying with the Cheeses of Huntingdonshire, took 
the name of Cream Cheese. 

Crces. Dear me! what a thing blood is! I always 
thought he was a vewy supewior person, and this accounts 
for it. When I was in Pawis, I heard of parties among 
the De la Cwemes, but never happened to be pwesent at one. 
Well, I must weally go. Au wevior, as the Fwench say. 

Helen. Adieu! (Exit Crcesus, r.) (To Howard.) 
Did you ever see such an extraordinary creature? But how 
could you tell him those ridiculous stories about the Em- 
peror of Persia and the Cream Cheeses ? 

How. Well, if they are not true, they answer his purpose 
just as well. And now, dearest, I must be gone. Don't 
forget what I have said to you, and let me know very soon 
when I may again see you. 

Helen. Henry, I can never forget you. Let us behave 
discreetly, and hope for a more favorable disposition on 
mamma's part. Good-bye ! You shall hear from me very 
soon. 

How. (Embracing her.) Adieu ! (Exit, R.) 

Helen. Dear Harry ! How considerate and reasonable ! 
I could never have loved any but him. What a contrast 
to that tiresome Ti Crcesus! How light my heart is! — I 
feel just like singing. No, I don't — I feel more like cry- 
ing. Why, what a foolish creature I am ! — there ! (Drying 
her eyes.) But I don't believe he loves me half so well as I 



26 OUR BEST SOCIETY. 

do him. Men never do. If I thought he did, I shouldn't 
be half so happy. It's a real luxury to feel so. I wonder 
if I can't see him from the window? (Goes to window.) 
Yes, there he goes! (Waving handkerchief.) Oh, he's 
actually kissing his hand to me ! (Dratuing back, and then 
advancing.) Well, here's my whole heart, dear, dear 
Harry ! (Kisses her hands to him, and runs out of room, L.) 

End of Act II. 



ACT. III. 

Scene I. — A Room in Potiphar'' s House. 
Enter Potiphar and Mrs. Potiphar, (l.) 

Mr. P. Polly, what are those long rows of gilded blocks 
for, that I saw lying in the hall as I came in ? 

Mrs. P. Blocks? Oh they must be for the library. 

Mr. P. How for the library? 

Mrs. P. You see, dear, books are enormously high 
now-a-days, and so I had these blocks made, and painted, 
and lettered in imitation. They'll answer every purpose. 
Of course nobody ever takes books down, and for that 
matter we can hide the key if necessary. I got old Vellum 
to do the thing up right. There isn't a book among them 
that a gentleman's library shouldn't be without, as old Mole 
says. 

Mr. P. Well, well, I knew almost everything else in 
the house was sham — sham bronzes, sham rosewood, sham 
plate — but I hadn't dreamed that there was any possibility 
of shamming a library. However, it will do well enough 
for the blockheads that attend your parties. 



Mrs 


. P. 


ing-chair. 


Mr. 


P. 


Mrs 


. P. 


know. 




Mr. 


P. 


Mrs, 


. P, 


ings. 




Mr. 


P. 


Mrs 


. P 


Mr. 


P. 



A PARLOR COMEDY. 2J 

Mrs. P. Yes, and do you know there's another thing I 
want, and that's a prie-dieu. 
Mr. P. Pray do what? 

Stop, you wicked man ! I say, I want a kneel- 

A kneeling-chair ! 
A prie-dieu — a prie-dieu — to pray in, you 

Oh, Lord! what next? 
And then, Potiphar, we need some new paint- 

What do you want new paintings for? 
Why, to furnish the walls, to be sure. 
I tell you, Polly, paintings are the most extravagant 
kind of furniture. Pshaw ! A man rubs and dabbles a 
little upon a canvas two feet square, and then coolly asks 
three hundred dollars for it. 

Mrs. P. Dear me, Pot, I don't want home-made 
pictures — what an idea! Do you think Pd have pictures 
on my walls that were painted in this country? No, my 
dear, let's have some choice specimens of the old masters. 
A landscape by Rayfel, for instance; or one of Angel's 
fruit-pieces, or a cattle-scene by Verynees, or a Madonna 
by Giddo, or a boar hunt of Hannibal Crackeye's. Singe, 
the pastry-cook, tells me his cousin has just come out from 
Italy, with a lot of the very finest pictures in the world, 
which he bribed one of the Pope's guard to steal from the 
Vatican, and will sell at a bargain. 

Mr. P. Oh dear! yes, go it, go it! 

Mrs. P. And Pot, don't you think we're getting dread- 
fully down town ? 

Mr. P. How do you mean? 

Mrs. P. Why, everybody is building above us, and 
there are actually shops in the next street. Singe, the 
pastry-cook, has bought Mrs. Croesus' old house. 



28 OUR BEST SOCIETY. 

Mr. P. I know it, and old Croesus was sorry enough 
to go. But this house is good enough for me, and so is the 
furniture. Do I want buhl escruteries? Do I need or muly 
things ? Do I know anything about pictures or statues ? 
In the name of heaven, do I want rose-pink bed-curtains 
to give my grizzly old phiz a delicate "auroral hue," as 
Cream Cheese says of your complexion ? No, no, I want 
none of these things. But still, Polly, perhaps I may gratify 
you in this. Unless some change takes place in my affairs, 
we will soon move into another house, further up-stream. 

Mrs. P. How, "unless some change takes place?" 

Mr. P. Why — unless something unforeseen happens. 

Mrs. P. Oh, yes — there's a dear, good, old Pot. But 
don't look so gloomy over it. When we get into our new 
house you'll never regret this. 

Mr. P. Well, Polly, I believe you may be right. 
(Aside.) I can't tell her yet. (To Mrs. P.) But I must 
go out for a while, and will talk with you further about this 
matter. (Exeunt l.) 



Scene II. — A room in Mrs. Dragon's house. 

Potiphar, discovered seated. Enter Mrs. Dragon, (l.) 

Mrs. Drag. Now, Potiphar, what on earth do you 
want of nie ? You haven't darkened my doors in three 
years. 

Mr. P. Susan, it hasn't been my fault. You chose to 
have our intimacy cease. 

Mrs. Drag. True enough, John, and you know the 
reason. Your wife's patronizing conduct was enough to 
drive me mad. Because I put my knife in my mouth, and 
had some phrases that Mrs. Croesus didn't use, she presumed 
to correct me. No, no, John, she and I never could hitch 
in the world. But your daughter, Helen, called on me the 
other day — a sweet lovely girl; I wanted to hug her right 



A PARLOR COMEDY. 29 

up to my old heart. How she reminds me of my sister, 
Jennie, who is a saint in heaven, I trust — that is, if there be 
any heaven or any saints, which I am sometimes led to doubt, 
when I look around this cheating, hypocritical, back-biting 
canting, lying world. 

Mr. P. Now, Susan, my business with you is on Helen's 
account. You were the wife of my esteemed partner, and 
when I am in trouble, is it not natural for me to counsel 
with you ? The truth is — and I may as well out with it, 
for the whole world will know it to-day — I am a ruined 
man, a beggar, or but little better. 

Mrs. Drag. John, you petrify me ! 

Mr. P. It is too true. Possibly a few thousand may be 
saved out of the general wreck, but my creditors shall have 
their due, if it takes every cent. 

Mrs. Drag. Right, John! Better become a county 
charge than bring disgrace on the reputation of the ancient 
and honorable house of Dragon & Potiphar. But how 
did this happen ? Mercy on us, man ! — I thought you worth 
a million! 

Mr. P. The crisis of 1857, an ^ tne failure of several of 
my heaviest debtors, caused the opening crack. But that 
was a mere trifle. Then the rebellion brought the repudiation 
of over six hundred thousand dollars of Southern debts. 
And now the "Alabama" has burned three of my best ships 
and cargoes. This was the last straw. 

Mrs. Drag. Pm glad it wasn't gold or petroleum 
speculations. 

Mr. P. No, Pve kept clear of that madness, but Croesus 
and Pettitoes are on the brink of ruin in this sort of thing. 

Mrs. Drag. Yes, yes, — same old story — greedy dog 
saw the shadow of the meat in the water, and wanted it. 
But about Helen ? 

Mr. P. I hope to save enough to buy a small farm, 
where I can take Polly, away from city frivolities. But 



30 OUR BEST SOCIETY. 

Helen — in short, I want to get her away from her mother's 
influence — you understand me? I want you to take her 
as a companion, until she can marry discreetly, or some 
change takes place in my affairs. Will you do this for your 
departed husband's friend ? 

Mrs. Drag. Poor child! — of course I will, and if she 
can derive any warmth from this frosty and embittered bosom, 
she shall nestle there. John, you have my sympathy for 
your misfortunes. I only hope you incur no moral disgrace 
in this reverse — 

Mr. P. No Susan, no man can look John Potiphar in 
the face, and avow that he ever wronged him to the extent 
of a mill ! 

Mrs. Drag. Ah, that my dear old John! Well, 
well — must you go? I'll come down to your house this 
afternoon, if you think Polly won't snap my head off, and 
talk over these matters. Good-bye! (Exit Potiphar, r.) 
It has been a great cross to me, since the death of my 
husband, and my sister's terrible fate, that, childless, and 
without one of my blood in existence, I couldn't be intimate 
at Potiphar's house. His wife is such a — well, there ain't 
words enough in Webster's unabridged illustrated Dictionary 
to express my contempt for that woman. But Helen — 
thank heaven ! I've enough to make her independent, 
although few dream of such a thing. When I've been 
saving and saving all these years, little did I think it was to 
be for Polly Potiphar's young one ! I supposed it would go 
to the Society for the Relief of Aged Respectable Indigent 
Females, or to found the Dragon Lying-in Hospital, or the 
Dragon Emancipation Fund, or some such humbuggery. 
But so it is; she shall have an independence — that is, if 
she marries to suit me, for I won't have her throw herself 
away on any of those empty-headed, brazen-faced, stutter- 
ing young dandies who are fawning around her. They'll 
all take wings fast enough, though, when find her father's 



A PARLOR COMEDY. 3 I 

riches have done so. But young Howard — he's a different 
fellow entirely. I think he's all he should be, but he must 
be tested; — and if he should turn out, as my lawyer, old 
Mole, insists — but he dotes, it can't be. No, I will not 
allow myself to believe it for a moment — I've been so. 
often disappointed. But in a few hours I shall know; this 
journey with Mole will tell the story. [Exit l.) 



Scene III. — - Room in Mr. Pettitoes' house. 

Timon Crcesus and Caroline Pettitoes, discovered seated 

on sofa. 

Car. {Aside.} Oh, if I can only fix him, father may 
move into the country, and joy go with him. 

Crces. {Aside.} So the guvnah has burst up, and says 
I must go to work for a living, and this is the easiest way I 
know of. ( To Caroline.) Ma dear Miss Pettitoes ! 
How can you have been so long blind to ma passion ? I love 
you to distwaction, demme if I don't now. Oh, do not turn 
away that angelic head ! Favor your miserwable admiwer 
with one smile from those sweet lips ! Thus do I cast myself 
at your toes — {Spreading his handkerchief on floor and kneeling 
on it) your feet, dear Miss Pettitoes, and swear by all the 
planets and the fixed stars I will not arwise until you say you 
will weturn my love. 

Car. Oh, Mr. Croesus ! — this is so unexpected ! Your 
devotion and fervor quite overpower me. Really, I feel 
quite — quite faint — {falling back on the sofa.) 

Crces. {Aside.) Hooked, by Joopiter ! 

Car. {Aside.) He's mine ! {Rising.) Pardon my emo- 
tion, Mr. Croesus, but this is so unlooked for ! I will not 
deny that your graces of manner and intellect have made a 
deep impression on me, but I thought you entirely devoted 
to Helen Potiphar. 



32 OUR BEST SOCIETY. 

Crces. Aw, Helen is well enough, but in the pwesence 
of your supewior chawms, dear Carwoline, she is as the 
flickerwing, miasmatic light of the whip-poor-will — aw, the 
will of the wisp, I should say — to the outgushing, unpwece- 
dented glorwy of the — the — camewa obscoorwa ! 

Car. Oh, thank you, dear Timon, — you do turn a 
compliment so handsomely ! 

Crces. Yaas, that's the way it stwikes me. 

Car. Ah! how happy we may be! — our tastes so con- 
genial, our station and fortunes not unequal — 

Crces. Yaas — we'll have a mansion on Murway Hill — 

Car. A country-house on the shore of the Sound — 

Crces. A cottage at Sarwatoga, — 

Car. A box at the Opera — 

Crces. My club and billiards — 

Car. My phaeton and Shetland ponies — 

Crces. My twotters, supewior to Bonner's — 

Car. Receptions all winter, with Gottschalkand Brignoli 
sometimes — oh, Timon, what happiness! 

Crces. That's the way it stwikes me. Say, Carwoline, 
when shall the happy day be? — the sooner the better for 
your impatient and distwacted lover — but I suppose you'll 
wequire a few weeks to pwepare ? 

Car. No, dear, I hate formal weddings. Let's have 
just a quiet affair, — traveling-dress, a slight repast, and — 

Crces. Cweam Cheese? 

Car. Oh, of course. Well, suppose we say — 

Crces. Toosday next? But your pawents? — 

Car. We'll count them out; I never allow them to 
dictate to me. And yours ? 

Crces. Same way, it stwikes me. And now dearwest 
Carwoline, allow me to place upon your fair finger this 
twining sooveneer of my affection. (Puts ring on first finger 
of her left hand.) 

Car. Oh, isn't it lovely! Amethyst and pearls — 



A PARLOR COMEDY. 



33 



constancy and purity — {Aside.) I wish it had been diamonds. 
( To Crcesus.) Dear Timon, you are a love ! {Embracing 
him.) And now you must go, for I've no time to lose. 

Crces. Well, Carwoline, I tear myself away. Adoo ! 
{Aside.) Pwetty well done, I fancy. I'll go tell the guvnah 
I've earned my living. {Exit r.) 

Car. Ah, ha! my young man, I've fastened you at last. 
All the girls will die of envy. I suppose his fortune will be 
something collossal. Well, I can tell mother that Pm fixed 
for life. {Exit L.) 



Scene IV. — Room at Potipbar's. 

Potiphar, Mrs. Potiphar, and Helen, discovered seated, 
Pot. and Helen on right, Mrs. P. on left. 

Mr. P. Spare me your reproaches, Polly. 

Mrs. P. But I shall die of vexation. What- will the 
Settum Downes say? and the Croesuses, and the Pettitoes? 
How Mrs. Gnu will crow, and go around, snuffing, and 
saying " What did I tell you ? " Potiphar, you're really too 
bad to treat me in this way. I have not deserved it. 
{Sobbing.) And then to be forced to go into the country, 
where one sees nothing but acres of snow in the winter, and 
acres of grass in the summer, and never a brick nor iron 
fence, and hears nothing but tree-toads, and crickets, and 
bull-frogs, and such cattle. Oh, why was I ever born ? 

Helen. Dear mamma, I have no regrets save for poor 
papa. We can live very happily together in the country. 
Think of a cottage overgrown with honey-suckle and ivy, 
and of milk from our own cow, and cheese of my makino-; 
and papa can take care of our sober old Dobbin, and we 
can have a man to do the heavier work; — why, I think it 
will be quite delightful. 

Mrs. P. Oh, I see through it all ! You're all in a con- 



34 OUR BEST SOCIETY. 

spiracy to reconcile me to it ; but I won't be reconciled ! 
And just as I had my new livery all arranged and selected. 

Mr. P. As for that, my dear, you will never be without 
a footman in the country — in fact we shall all have to go 
afoot ; and as for calves, you'll see them to your heart's con- 
tent. 

Mrs. P. Oh, very fine, Mr. Potiphar, to make sport of 
your wife's misfortunes ! And what, allow me to inquire, 
is poor Helen to do, cooped up in the country — no society, 
no beaux, no nothing! 

Mr. P. My dear, I have made provision for Helen to 
remain for the present, at least, in the city, at Mrs. Dragon's. 

Mrs. P. Now, P., this is the meanest insult of all. 
To give our dear Helen to that old termagant ! 

Helen. No, no, papa dear. I see through your kind 
design, but do you think so poorly of your dear Helen, as 
to imagine for a moment that she could ever leave you? 
No, never, papa ! You couldn't do without your pet daugh- 
ter to sit on your knee, — now, could you? — could you? 
(Eynhracing him.) 

Mr. P. {Affected.) Now, God in heaven bless you, 
my dear, true child ! My reverses go for nothing, when 
they disclose this affection for your old and broken father. 
I should miss you, I do not deny it; but for special reasons 
I desire you to comply with this arrangement. It may be 
for my good — certainly for yours. 

Mrs. P. On second thoughts, Helen, perhaps it would 
be as well. Mrs. Dragon may yet adopt you — who knows? 
Stranger things have happened. If she should, I would 
forgive her all the injuries she has heaped on me. 

Helen. For shame, mamma! what mercenary views! 

Mr. P. Now, Polly, may I trouble you to come to my 
study a moment ? I want a few private words with you. 

Mrs. P. (Aside.) Mercy on us! What will he say 
when he knows the extent of my bills, and the expense of 



A PARLOR COMEDY. ^5 

our last party ? ( To P.) Yes, in a moment. (Exit Poti- 
phar, l.) (To Helen.) Seems to me young Howard 
hasn't been here of late? How are matters between you 
and him? 

Helen. Mamma, we are affianced. I can't but think 
he must have been called away on business. 

Mrs. P. Well, it's a great pity you didn't secure Croesus. 
I imagine from all I can learn, that he and Caroline Pettitoes 
will make a match. But Howard is better than nothing. 
" Haifa loaf," you know, my dear. (Exit l.) 

Enter Mrs. Dragon, (r.) 

Helen. Well, dear auntie, you find us in affliction. 
But after all, we've lost nothing but our money. 

Mrs. Drag. True enough, unless you have lost your 
beau. What's become of your Harry Howard ? I wouldn't 
have thought he could be one of your fair weather friends. 

Helen. I am distressed beyond measure at his not 
coming. Oh, if he has deserted me! (Falls on Mrs. D.'s 
neck.) 

Mrs. Drag. Well, if he has, there are as good fish in 
the sea as ever were caught. 

Helen. . No, no, my Harry's equal doesn't live! Don't 
you say a word against him; I won't hear it — even from 
you. 

Mrs. Drag. There, there — it shan't be bothered any 
more; it shall have its own way. But, seriously, I think 
it's high time he came. (Bell rings.) Hark ! there's a ring ! 
Perhaps — 

Helen. Oh, my heart! Oh, please retire a moment — 
if it is only he! (Exit Mrs. D., l.) 

Enter Howard, (r.) 

How. (Embracing ber.) What! sweet one, — in tears? 
What has vexed you ? 



36 OUR BEST SOCIETY. 

Helen. Oh, Harry, Harry ! Why have you been so 
long away ? And have you not heard ? 

How. Heard? what? no, nothing ! I have been unex- 
pectedly absent from town three days, and on the instant of 
my return have flown to you. Quick! tell me! 

Helen. Henry, you never spoke a word to me, however 
light, that has not sunk deep into my poor heart ; and I re- 
member, oh, how vividly ! at our last happy meeting, these 
words : " Oh, that you were penniless, that I might prove my 
devotion and my honor!" Henry, that time has come! 

How. Great heaven ! Helen, what do you mean? 

Helen. Henry, my father is a ruined man; we are all 
beggars ; I am perhaps even reduced to the necessity of 
daily labor; I am penniless ! 

How. And thus do I prove my devotion and my honor ! 
[Kissing her hand.) 

Enter Mrs. Dragon, (l.) 

Mrs. Drag. Kings should kneel to you, young man ! 
Give me your hand ! 

How. Mrs. Dragon ! Why, how's this ? I thought — 

Mrs. Drag. {To Howard, aside.) Hush ! not a word ! 
( To both, aloud.) Forgive me, children, — I am no eaves- 
dropper. But you have said and done nothing to be ashamed 
of. It does so cheer my heart to witness one spark of honor 
and virtue in this depraved world ! Young man, you're a 
credit to the human family. If you'll excuse me for saying 
so, I'd really like to — to hug you! {Offers to embrace 
him.) 

How. My dear Mrs. Dragon, I should esteem it an 
honor. ( They embrace.) Yes, madam, except for the 
distress to her excellent parents, — 

Mrs. Drag. {Aside.) Parent, he means. 

How. I rejoice that my Helen has lost all that rendered 
us in the world's eyes unequal. Now she is dependent on 



A PARLOR COMEDY. 37 

me alone. I was always a little jealous of her expectations ; 
now all she has is mine — she is wholly mine ! Is it not so, 
dearest ? 

Helen. Yes, dear Harry, but don't say that all the 
dependence is on my part ; you need my sympathy, my 
society, my love; and you shall have — you have them all. 

Mrs. Drag. (Wiping her eyes.) Upon my word, a 
very pretty love scene ! Young people, I guess I'd better 
be off. (Exit R.) 

How. Excellent old soul ! But now, Helen, you must 
take me to the library, and tell me all about it. (Exeunt, l.) 



Scene V. — Room at Crcesus' house. 
Enter Timon and Lydia. 

Crces. Well, sistah, my mattahs are arwanged for life. 
I have pwoposed to Carwoline Pettitoes, and am accepted. 

Lyd. I wish you joy, Ti. And do you know, — Rev. 
Mr. Cream Cheese yesterday proposed for my hand, and is 
to have his answer to-day ? 

Crces. Aw, Cweam Cheese is vewy well. By the 
way, his aunt in England died wecently, leaving him a large 
fortune — perfectly enawmous, so they say. 

Lyd. Ah, indeed ! Did you hear how much ? 

Crces. No, but he has wecently consulted my banker 
about investing twenty thousand pounds sterling, andactooally 
deposited five hundwed pounds with him, — just the custom- 
awy first slice, I suppose. And then, Howard, the barwister 
infawms me, that he is of verwy distinguished descent — 
the de la Cw ernes of Fwance — Cweme de la Cweme came 
over with Charletan the conjuwor, I think he said; — there's 
an immensely long tail to it. 

Lyd. You don't say, Ti ! Why, that's splendid ! 
That's a very famous family; I've often heard of them. 



38 OUR BEST SOCIETY. 

How nice it would be to marry into such a great family ! 
As for money, we got enough of that, you know ; what we 
want is blood. This determines me. {Pulling out her 
watch.) Why, it's almost two, the hour he's to come for 
his answer. {Bell rings.) Hark! there's a ring! 

Crces. Yaas, a wedding-wing^ it stwikes me ! Ha, ha ! 
Well, I suppose I must make twacks. [Aside.) If she 
only secures the pwoperty, hang the blood! {To Lydia.) 
He's a shepherd who won't have to get his living by hook 
or cwook, eh ? Ha, ha, ha ! {Exit l.) 

Enter Cream Cheese, (r.) 

Cheese. And how is this dear lamb of my flock to-day ? 
And has she consented to choose her unworthy servant for 
her earthly guardian and supporter? 

Lyd. After conscientious reflection, Mr. Cheese, I 
have determined to accept your proposals, mainly with the 
purpose of aiding you in the labors of your arduous and 
responsible ministry. 

Cheese. Truly, a blessing is vouchsafed unto me ! 
Dear Lydia, it has not been without a severe struggle that 
I have been brought to recognize the propriety of my marrying, 
under any circumstances. The priests of one great church, 
at least, have for ages remained celibate. For a long time, 
too, the known riches of your father were a great cross to 
me. I was long obstinate on this point. But my eyes 
have been opened. In the recent death of my trans-Atlan- 
tic aunt, and her dedication of a very handsome proportion 
of her accumulations to her unworthy nephew, I can perceive 
that the lesson is intended, that I should not allow worldly 
considerations to stand in the path of my evident duty. I 
accept the lesson and the boon in a spirit of obedience and 
humility. 

Lyd. Oh, Mr. Cheese! you have such a beautiful way 
of saying these things! 



A PARLOR COMEDY. 39 

Enter Timon, (l.) 

Crces. Yaas, that's the way it stwikes me. Allow me 
to congwatulate you, my dear Cheese, on your choice. I 
had no ideah that you were contemplating this sort of thing, 
when I engaged you for my little affair. 

Cheese. Thank you, dear brother. I have struggled 
long and painfully in resistance to what seemed temptation. 
Your sister has consented to put her hand to the plow. 
( To Lydia.) And now, methinks, there should be no un- 
necessary procrastination of what is apparently our duty. 
I suppose our nuptials need not be ostentatious ? 

Lyd. A few days only will be needed. And I think, 
Timon, a quiet wedding would — 

Crces. Yaas, that's the way it stwikes me. 

Cheese. And so we will consider the preliminaries 
settled. (Curtain falls.) 

End of Act III. 



ACT IV. 

Scene I. — Room in Mrs. Dragon's house. 
Mrs. Dragon and Howard, seated. 

Mrs. Drag. So, Howard, old Mole seems pleased with 
the result of his journey? 

How. Yes, in his grim and quiet way, although I could 
not get much out of him on the subject. I am convinced, 
however, that he had something else on his mind, for while 
I was busy in your matter, he would be absent most of the 
time, occasionally rejoining me. 



4-0 OUR BEST SOCIETY. 

Mrs. Drag. Just like the lawyers: killing two birds 
with one stone ; charging one journey to two different 
clients. Had you ever been in that neighborhood before? 

How. Not to my recollection ; and yet everything 
looked strangely familiar to me, probably because I was 
brought up, as I understand, near the ocean, and somewhere 
along that coast. The inhabitants are quite primitive; they 
stared at me as if I were some extraordinary being. 

Mrs. Drag. They are not much used to visitors, I 
suppose. And now, how much am I in your debt? 

How. I leave that entirely to you, madam. 

Mrs. Drag. Well, that's more liberal than most of 
your profession ; they don't generally leave anything to the 
client. Well, I will pay you what old Mole says is right, 
to-morrow afternoon, at four o'clock, at which time I want 
you to come here, bringing Helen with you. Her parents 
will also be here, with some others. If I am not present 
precisely at the hour, make no reference to me in any way, — 
mind that, now. 

How. I will do so. Till to-morrow afternoon, then 
adieu. {Exit Howard, r.) 

Mrs. Drag. How my heart goes out toward that boy — 
a noble fellow ! I was always strangely attracted to him, 
and now that the truth is known, it seems not without 
reason. Mole's proofs are perfectly satisfactory, in fact 
overwhelming. I think my boy has been sufficiently tried, 
and will make Helen a capital husband. And now to pre- 
pare myself for the scene of to-morrow afternoon. I must 
show these upstarts, standing on the brink of pecuniary ruin, 
how I shall return the abuse and contumely which they 
have heaped on me for half a generation. {Exit l.) 



A PARLOR COMEDY. 41 



Scene II. — Roo?n in Cr testis' house. 

Timon, Lydia, Caroline, and Cheese discovered seated, 
after breakfast; TlMON reading the " Tribune" Cheese 
reading the " Herald." 

Lyd. Well, Caroline, everything passed off very nicely. 
I do so like a quiet wedding! 

Car. They are much the style now-a-days. None but 
the lower classes make large weddings. And how elegantly 
Cheese married us ! 

Lyd. Yes, I think he does such things very gracefully ; 
quite a contrast to old Dr. Polysyllable. 

Car. Stupid old fellow! I nearly froze to death, he 
was so mortally slow. But how absorbed our husbands 
seem to be in the morning papers. (Timon and Cheese 
start suddenly and simultaneously .) 

Crces. Good-gwacious ! 

Cheese. Merciful heaven! 

Car. What's the matter? 

Lyd. How you frighten me! 

Crces. {Reading.) "Anothaw failure. Only a few 
days since we were ahead of all our contempowawies, in- 
cluding the Satanic Pwess of this city, in announcing the 
disastwous failure of John Pawtipher, Esquire, of the old 
mercantile house of Pawtipher & Dwagon ; and now we 
have to chwonicle the bankwuptcy of Pelatiah Pettitoes, 
Esquire, the gweat bankah of William stweet. Some ideah 
of the pwobable extent of the influence of this occurwence 
upon our business community may be obtained, when we 
say that the liabilities are upwards of twenty-thwee hundwed 
thousand dollahs. The cause of this gweat cwash is pwe- 
sumed to be over-operwations in petwoleum." Yaas, that's 
the way it stwikes me. 

6 



42 OUR BEST SOCIETY. 

Car. Oh ! I'm so faint ! 

Crces. It stwikes me I'm the one to faint. 

Lyd. But what are you staring at so, dear Cheese? 

Cheese. Verily, the ways of Providence are inscrutable. 
[Reads.) "Another Extraordinary Development. — Reck- 
less Financeering in High Life! — We presume the minor 
prints of this city, including that unscrupulous sheet edited 
by Poor Massa Greely, will open their dull eyes at this an- 
nouncement ; but it is nevertheless true that Christopher 
Croesus, the old, influential, and long-established real-estate 
broker of Wall street, has been compelled to make an as- 
signment for the benefit of creditors. His liabilities are 
estimated at over two millions of dollars, and he is helplessly 
and irremediably bankrupt. The cause of this startling 
disaster is reported to be extravagant expansion of gold- 
speculations." 

Lyd. Oh, I never dreamed of this! Horrible! Timon, 
did vou know it ? Oh, why didn't you tell me ? 

Crces. Well, the twuth is, I was so absowbed in a little 
speculation of my own, that it entiwely escaped my memowy. 
Car. Mr. Croesus, you have basely, grossly deceived 
me ! You obtained my hand under false pretences ! But 
I won't stand it — I'll consult a lawyer — the marriage is 
utterly void, I'm convinced ! 

Crces. Yaas, that's the way it stwikes me — void of 
money. But you are not the only individual deceived, 
madam. I too have been cheated, done, bamboozled, by 
Joopiter! My virgin affections twined with in this mercen- 
awy, pecuniawy manner ! 

Lyd. But why so downcast, dear Cream ? Although 
I am not rich, you have a sufficiency for both. 

Cheese. (Groaning.) Therein I have been in error. 
It only serves the more forcibly to illustrate the fallibility 
of human judgment. The advance of five hundred pounds 
sterling, which I supposed the precursor of a golden shower, 



A PARLOR COMEDY. 43 

proves to be at once the alpha and the omega, the beginning 
and the end, and my pecuniary prospects are left indeed 
parched and barren. 

Lyd. But your noble and wealthy relations, the de la 
Cremes? — Will they not assist you? 

Cheese. My grandfather, Sage Cheese, of New Jersey, 
is indeed a man of fortune. But — 

Lyd. No, no — I mean the great French family from 
which you are descended. 

Cheese. My dear Lydia, I have no such descent. My 
grandfather, as I said before — 

Lyd. Oh, bother your grandfather ! Oh, you base man ! 
But I'll see if justice can't be done. 

Car. Oh, oh! to think of what the world will say! 

Cheese. My usefulness in the church circumscribed ! 

Crces. Turned out of my club! 

Lyd. Everv woman in the avenue laughing at me! 

Car. Where are my country-house and Shetland ponies ? 

Crces. And my yacht must be sacwificed ! 

Lyd. The meanest of all is to be a poor clergyman's 
wife ! Cold meats sent in, and donation parties once a 
year! Ugh! And not even to marry blood — that would 
in a measure have made up for the loss of money. 

Cheese. "The woman tempted me, and I did eat." 

Lyd. Disgraced — 

Car. Deceived — 

Crces. Bamboozled — 

Car. x\nd to think of living in some cross street, in a 
block, perhaps compelled to take boarders ! 

Lyd. And of my carrying around things to the church's 
poor, and circulating subscriptions! Now, Cheese, where's 
the bread and butter to come from ? 

Crces. That's the point — where's the ice-cweam, and 
bwandy, mewingoes, and all the other necessawies of life to 
come fwom ? 



44 OUR BEST SOCIETY. 

Cheese. He who fed the Israelites will not desert us. 

Crces. That would be vewy well if we were Iswael- 
ites; — Pwovidence has always fed that wace, evendown to 
this pewiod of time, vewy bountifully. But here's something. 
[Enter Servant, l., giving notes to Lydia and Caroline.) 

Lyd. (Reading.) "Rev. Mr. and Mrs. Cream Cheese 
are invited to be present at Mrs. Dragon's residence, No. 
30, Potiphar Square, at 4 o'clock this afternoon, to attend 
the reading of her will." Mercy on us ! is that old woman 
dead ? 

Crces. Is it possible that horwible female is defunct? 
I expewience a feeling of welief. 

Car. I had not even heard of her sickness. My note 
is the same. But don't you see? — we must have been 
mentioned in her will ! 

Lyd. The old lady was very abrupt in her manner, but 
had many good qualities. Oh, Cream! if it should be so, 
I feel that I could overlook the past ! 

Cheese. My estimable companion, Providence has 
evidently happy days in store for us. At the worst, I have 
my profession. Let us have faith. ( They embrace.) 

Car. Now, Timon, we may as well make the best of 
a bad bargain. And if the old lady has done anything for us, 
we must in decency accept it. 

Crces. That's the way it stwikes me. We shall all 
get along well enough. Cheese may "stwike He" — evewy 
church has its aisle, you know — ha, ha, ha! At any wate 
I have my — my bwains. I can make jokes for Bwyants' 
Minstwels. Let's weconstwuct. (They embrace.) And 
now to pwepare our mourning. (Exeunt L.) 



A PARLOR COMEDY. 45 



Scene III. — Room at Mrs. Dragoris house. 

All the characters except Mrs. Dragon, discovered seated; 
Timon, Caroline, Cheese, and Lydia (on r.) in street 
mourning habits; Potiphar, Mrs. Potiphar, Helen, 
and Howard (on L.) in house dress; the former in affected 
grief; the latter staring at them in astonishment. 

Car. (To Helen.) Dreadful affliction, isn't it? 

Helen. Why, not so very dreadful to me personally ; 
I'm sorry for you, though, Carrie, as you seem so much to 
regret it. (General expression of horror by Caroline , Timon, 
Lydia, and Cheese.) 

How. Well, for my part, I don't think we younger 
people need regret the occurrence a whit. It's only to be 
mourned on account of the older ones. (Similar expressions 
of horror as above.) 

Cheese. Let us hope that her loss may prove our gain. 

Mr. P. That's a queer text in this connection. 

Crces". (Aside.) They seem to take it vewy coolly on 
that side of the room. Guess they don't get much by the 
will. But I don't like the appearwance of their being divested 
of their outer apparwel. It looks as if they were in posses- 
sion, and meant to stay. 

Enter Mrs. Dragon, (l.) with papers; Timon, Lydia, 
Cheese, and Caroline rise in confusion and astonishment. 
Mrs. D. comes forward to centre. 

Car. Oh, mercy ! 

Lyd. Oh, mercy ! 

Crces. Why, why, what the devil do you mean, Mrs. 
Dwagon, by coming to life in this manner? It's vewy 
iwegular. I'll have you arwested for wesurwectionizing ! 

Cheese. Truly, the day of miracles seems again at hand. 



46 OUR BEST SOCIETY. . 

(Potiphar, Mrs. Potiphar, Helen, and Howard looking 
inquiringly at one another?) 

Mrs. Drag. Sit down, good people, sit down, and be 
easy. I am not dead, nor have I said I was. I invited 
you hither to hear my will, it is true ; but why can't I make, 
read, and execute my will before I die? I shall be sure of 
its being carried into effect, which is by no means certain 
if I leave it to my heirs and the lawyers. But I had recourse 
to this little stratagem to entice you here, judging that you 
would all be so happy and so absorbed in your marriages, that 
nothing less than the death of a dear friend like me could 
have power to startle you out of your dreams. 

Crces., Cheese, Lyd., and Car. Oh ! (Crces. and 
Cheese cut the weeds off their hats, and Lyd. and Car. 
take off their gloves.) 

Mrs. Drag. You will now have the goodness to pre- 
serve silence, and refrain from billing and cooing a few minutes, 
while I read my will. (Seats herself at table in centre, opens 
papers, and reads.) "I, Susan Dragon, widow of Snap 
Dragon, of the city of New York, being of sound and dis- 
posing mind, memory, and understanding, blessed be God 
for the same ; and not being particularly feeble in body, but 
mindful of the uncertainty of human life and earthly riches, 
do hereby make, publish, and declare my will, though possibly 
not my last one, in manner and form following, that is to 
say : First : As I don't owe a cent, my debts need not give 
my executrix, hereinafter named, any trouble. Second : As 
I owe no favors to Timon, son of Christopher Croesus, of 
New York, — having never been treated by him with any- 
thing but disrespect, but as my late husband was indebted 
to said Christopher for business favors during his lifetime, 
and as said Christopher has become bankrupt, and said Timon 
hasn't got brains enough to earn his own living, I deem it 
my duty to, and I do hereby, give and bequeath unto said 
Timon, a commission, already procured by me, constituting 



A PARLOR COMEDY. 



47 



him first lieutenant in the regular army of the United States, 
and the sum of one thousand dollars, to buy his necessary 
apparel and equipments ; the latter upon condition, however, 
that he accept said commission, and forthwith report for 
duty." [Giving papers to Crams.) — There are your com- 
mission and check, Timon. 

Car. (To Crcesus.) Come, sir, let us not stay here to 
be insulted. 

Crces. But, good gwacious, Mrs. Dwagon ! I'm not 
fit for the position. I should become so agitated in action 
that the battle would all be over before I could say to my 
twoops, F — f — f — fire ! 

Mrs. Drag. Silence, Timon! [Reads.) "Third: 
Being under precisely similar obligations to Sage Cheese 
grandfather of Cream Cheese, husband of Lydia Croesus 
and actuated by the same motives and the same evident ne- 
cessity in respect to said Cream, I hereby give and bequeath 
to said Cream a chaplaincy in the army, and the like sum 
of money, for the like purpose, on the like condition." 
(Offering papers to Cheese, who declines them.) Here are 
your commission and check, my esthetic friend. 

Cheese. My dear madam, I have not hitherto felt my 
vocation to be in the direction of the tented field. My 
profession is not warlike. 

Mrs. Drag. (Reads.) " Fourth : My dear friend, John 
Potiphar, partner of my late husband during the latter's life 
having been unfortunate in his old age, and lost his property, 
and having sustained his reverses like a Christian and a phi- 
losopher, without murmuring or repining, I hereby give and 
bequeath to him the sum of sixty thousand dollars, in money, 
trusting that his wife, Polly, will now, during the remnant 
of my days, permit me to eat with my knife, or with my 
fingers if I choose." (Giving John paper.) Here's your 
check, John. 

Mr. P. My dear Susan — 



48 OUR BEST SOCIETY. 

Mrs. Drag. John, don't interrupt me. (Reads.) 
"Fifth: My dear young friend, Helen, daughter of said 
John Potiphar, having, while she supposed herself rich, 
affianced herself to Henry Howard, whom she knew to be 
poor ; and the said Howard, having, after he discovered 
said Helen to be a beggar, nobly and honorably persisted in 
his engagement, an example on both sides worthy of emula- 
tion by all their acquaintances ; and the said Howard proving 
to be the son and lawful heir of my deceased sister, Jane, 
lost at sea twenty-five years ago ; I hereby give, devise, and 
bequeath unto said Helen and Henry, and their heirs forever, 
my house in Potiphar Place, where I now reside, and the 
sum of sixty thousand dollars in money." (To Helen and 
Howard.) Here, my dear children, are the check and deed. 
(Giving them papers.) 

Helen. Oh, my dear, kind benefactress! 

How. Am I awake or dreaming? 

Mrs. Drag. Hush, children, don't interrupt the course 
of the law. (Reads.) "Lastly: All the rest, residue, and 
remainder of my property, amounting to about the sum 
of" — (Timon, Lydia, Cheese, and Caroline bend eagerly 
forward) — "blank thousand dollars, I keep myself; and 
fearing that my will may not be carried into effect after my 
death, I hereby appoint myself sole executrix, to effectuate it 
during my life. Signed, sealed, &c, &c." I guess there 
are witnesses enough present, ain't there ? Well, good 
people, there's my will. How d'ye like it ? It seems to 
me to be a great improvement upon the common method. 

Crces. It doesn't exactly stwike me that way. 

Car. Come, Mr. Croesus. Mrs. Dragon, I spit upon 
you and your gifts. I wish the rest of you joy ! (Exeunt 
Crcesus and Caroline, r.) 

Mrs. Drag. Good-bye, stupidity and deceit! 

Cheese. I do not think my sphere of usefulness lies 
longer in this meridian. Come, Lydia. (To Mrs. Drag- 



A PARLOR COMEDY. 



49 



on.) Madam, I forgive you. (Exeunt Cheese and Lydia 
r. Cheese taking bis papers from the table. How. crosses 

to R.) 

Mrs. Drag. Good-by, hypocrisy and credulity ! But 
I'll be bound, those ruffled gentlemen will use their commis- 
sions yet. Anything to get away from their wives ! [Crosses 
to R. of How.) And now, my dear Henry, — don't stand 
there in such a maze. You are my own nephew. There's 
no doubt of it. The proof is clear. The ship's name — 
the Petrel — the same as that from which you drifted ashore, 
a naked baby ; the fact that the only family on board with 
a young child, was my dear lost Jennie's ; your identification 
by old residents of the neighborhood as the boy brought up 
by the fisherman's widow ; all this and much more render 
it as certain as that the sun shines. Oh ! the long, doubt- 
ing, watching, waiting hours that I have spent for twenty-five 
years in this seemingly hopeless search ! But it's all repaid 
when I clasp to my aching heart my noble, handsome, 
brilliant, honest Harry Howard! [Embracing him.) 

How. I thank thee, heaven, that one of my kin yet lives. 
But oh! my mother — what of her? I shall go mad with 
joy and suspense. 

Mrs. Drag. You shall know it all, Harry, and that 
very soon. And now, about your bill ? — 

How. Oh, aunt, that is over-paid. ( Turning to Helen.) 

Mrs. Drag. Well, now we're all happy. Your old 
friend has done some little good, and hopes to live to do 
much more. Let the false and giddy world eschew me as 
it may ; I know where to look for sympathy and love ; and 
in the companionship of my darling ones, I trust my journey 
will be peaceful, until I rejoin my loved and lost above. 

Mr. P. Yes, life is full of blessings as well as sacrifices, 
but how small the sacrifices in comparison ! I have only 
relinquished my dreams of power founded on wealth — 

How. And I the luxury of marrying a beggar — 



5° 



OUR BEST SOCIETY. 



Mrs. P. And I my new livery — 

Helen. And I — but why dwell on my sacrifices ? {To 
audience.) Dear friends, among our blessings we esteem 
your kind approval of our humble efforts. And now, our 
evening's task is done, and it only remains to say, — we have 
endeavored to point the moral, that intermixed with much 
fairly meriting our ridicule, and even our reprehension, there is 
yet an ample leaven of devotion, honor, and true Christian 
charity in Our Best Society. 

Curtain falls. 

Position of Characters : 

(r.) Mrs. Drag., How., Helen, Pot., Mrs. Potiphar. (l.) 




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